Thief of Hearts, Bringer of Love
by mustard-squid
Summary: A girl breaks into the bunker. She then is allowed to stay...and adopts a pet project. Destiel. It takes a while, but she and Sam finally restore balance to the universe. (I suck at summaries by the way...just read it.) Sam/OC, Destiel. T for potty mouth. (I'm looking at you Dean.)
1. Chapter I

**Okay, so let's pretend they're all like 20 (with Cas being the exception, of course). And so, um, everything else is the same, so they all have their nice hair (let's never speak of Season 1 Sam...) and everything. Just for the story. Then, I can fast-forward 20 years and they won't be old farts.**

**Anyway. **

**On to the story!**

* * *

Team Free Will finished the first hunt they'd had in a while. At Dean's request, they bought more towels to place on the Impala's seats, so they would not mess up her leather. Sam and Cas happily obliged, as they were all bloody, sore, and tired. The drive back to the bunker was a long, quiet one; the only noise being breathing or the rustle as the trio drew straws to see who would sower first. Normally, they had two showers, but Cas broke the other one. In a freak accident involving potato guns and a wig.

Sam had the shortest straw, so he practically leaped out of the Impala, racing to the bunker door as fast as his weary, lanky limbs would allow. Tearing of his shirt as he stumbled through the hallway. Then he stopped. He didn't unlock the door, didn't turn the lights on, but there he was, in a lit hallway somewhere inside the bunker. He dropped his shirt, and made his way back to Dean and Cas, who had crashed on the couch.

"Dude, what are you waiting for? Go shower."

"Dean," Sam chose his words carefully, "I didn't unlock the door. Or turn on the lights. And I know for a fact that we always turn off the lights and lock the door. So, there may or may not be someone in here. Nobody was here for hours, Dean. They may have taken our extra demon blade, or the other guns. Dean!"

Silence. Nothing moved, like it should have been for hours. Sam sighed, and walked back to the shower. Once he was down to his boxers, he reached a hand inside the shower and turned it on. He could have sworn something whimpered at the hot water, but he chalked it up to the squeak of the knob.

He then did his regular ritual of taking his boxers off in the shower. It was quite odd, he'd have to admit, but after that one experience...he then did so.

Sam turned around so the spray wet his back, and screamed.

The girl cowering in the corner of the shower screamed back.

* * *

Sam snapped off the water. They were both mildly wet, the girl more so. She was thin, and looked to be about half a foot shorter than Sam. He grabbed her forearm and dragged her back to the living room, the girl screaming and sobbing the whole way.

Dean looked up from his spot on the couch. Standing there was his brother, practically seething, in his boxer and hair mussed up-soaking wet. He almost laughed, but then Sam shoved forward a tall, thin girl. She, too, was wet, but was fully clothed.

"I knew there was someone in here. She was in the fucking shower!" Sam yelled. The girl cowered in her spot in the middle of the floor.

"Please," she begged. "Please, just let me go." There were fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "I am so, so sorry. I j-just needed something to eat. I'm sorry." Dean stood up, and the girl took a step back, covering her face with her arms. Her step back took her directly into Sam's chest, and she whimpered as she realized that she was surrounded.

Sam motioned for Dean to down, and practically shoved the girl into one of the old armchairs. He disappeared into the kitchen, and came back out with one of the kitchen table's chairs. He sat down directly across from the girl, who managed to tuck herself into a small ball.

"What's your name?" Sam asked gently. The girl muttered a reply. "I can not hear you. Untuck yourself, and repeat the answer."

Cautiously, the girl sat normally in the chair. "C-clara. What's yours?"

"Sam. Winchester. How old are you?"

"19. And you?"

"21. Why are you here?"

"I needed something to eat. And I needed a nap that wasn't on concrete."

"Well, you've picked the wrong bunker." Sam edged closer, and the girl-_Clara_- tucked herself back into her ball.

"I said sorry. Please, let me go. I promise to never come ba-" Clara shrieked when Sam pulled out the gun. Silently, he handed it to her. She didn't see, and was cowering, tears making a large stain on the arm of the olive green chair.

"Clara, I'm not going to shoot you. I'm giving you the gun. Look." Dean rolled his eyes. Obviously, being a stupid sap would get him nowhere. He stood up again, and picked Clara up by the back of her T-shirt. She was almost weightless, and he set her back down so she was facing Sam. She was still a bit wet, and her hair dripped on the floor and chair.

"Now. Take the damn gun, and listen to whatever else Sam has to say." Dean snapped, and Clara nodded almost absentmindedly. As if she were raised to be perfectly obedient...

Clara took the gun slowly, cradling it in her hands. She didn't look at Dean or Sam, instead at the floor.

"You can sleep here for the night. We'll give you a bit to eat. Hell, if you can do laundry better than us, you can stay. Is that okay?" Sam was gentle with his words.

Clara nodded, then spoke. "I...can do laundry. I can cook. I'll do what I...what I must." She thought Sam didn't notice, but her hands gripped and relaxed the gun several times in a row.

"Then it's official! You're a new member of Team Free Will! Wait 'till you meet the others, they're a real hoot." Sam jumped up, making Clara flinch. "Oh, sorry. Well, it's late, and we still haven't showered. Make yourself at home. You can sleep on the couch or whatever." Sam then got up, and left to go to the bathroom.

Dean and Cas (neither of whom Clara quite knew yet) disappeared to their respective rooms, leaving Clara on the chair.


	2. Chapter II

**Hello again, friends. *grins evilly* I didn't pick Clara because of Doctor Who...but then I realized. It's not a crossover, to make things clear. Review stuff you want to happen, and I may just grant your cynic little wishes...**

**One review! Whoop!**

**By the way, Dancerline, I'll be dropping hints until she spills. Which may or may not be soon...**

**Anyway.**

**On with the story!**

* * *

Sam woke up. He looked at his alarm clock. _01:07. _He decided he was hungry, and trudged to the kitchen for something. Anything. As he passed through the living room, he glanced at the couch. No Clara. The chairs. No Clara. She didn't seem to be anywhere in the living room, and then he saw a flash of her strawberry-blonde hair on the cold concrete floor. _Uh oh._

Sam decided to investigate, and saw that she wasn't dead...just sleeping on the floor. The freezing, hard, concrete floor. Her back was to the wall, and thin arms were covering her face and neck. From what he could see in the light of the small lamp that they _always_ kept on, those thin arms were covered in bruises and cuts and scrapes. He sucked in a breath. Maybe she really meant it, and wasn't a rich kid breaking and entering for fun.

He sat next to her, back to the wall and half a foot away from her strawberry-blonde head. Slowly and gently, he placed a hand on her side to reassure himself she was still breathing. He then began to run a hand along from where her ribcage ended, across the dip of her waist, and up onto her hip. He repeated this gesture, over and over, his large fingers ghosting across her shockingly thin stomach. He touched her ribcage, and he could feel each and every rib, prominently sticking out.

Clara hummed and stretched out, the top of her head now pressing on his thigh. He hadn't realized it, or maybe he was just distracted, but Clara was quite beautiful. She had a petite, upturned nose and long, thick eyelashes. Her curly, strawberry blonde hair was messed up now, but Sam bet it looked great.

_Great, _Sam told himself, _You haven't gotten laid in six months and you're already checking out a stranger? Great, Sam, great._

Clara began to cry, as if she were having some sort of nightmare. She clutched Sam's thigh when he tried to get up, her elbow bonking his kneecap. Sam sighed, and pulled a blanket out of the 'Blanket Box'. The Blanket Box (dubbed by Cas) held all sorts of blankets, just for when you needed them. As it got cold in the bunker, you often did. He draped it over Clara, leaned his head on the media stand, and fell asleep too.

* * *

"Cas, look. Sammy finally found himself a girlfriend..." Sam's eyes snapped open. Dean was stifling giggles at the pair on the floor.

His hand was still on her hip and her head was pressed to his thigh. "I was hungry..." He muttered. "It's a long story."

Clara got up slowly, looking at everyone. Her face was bright red, and her stomach lurched. She got up, and ran. Shoving past the two standing in the doorway, she made it back into the bathroom just in time to empty what little she ate yesterday into the sink. After washing it all down, she meekly walked back to the living room.

"Sorry, had to use the bathroom."

* * *

Sam was making scrambled eggs for everyone, including Clara. She said she wasn't hungry, but Sam figured otherwise. Clara sat at the table, arms crossed, glaring at the small napkin holder.

"Jeez, Clara, you'd have figured the napkin holder killed your whole family." Sam chuckled as he sat the plate down in front of her. Sitting directly across from her, he began to dig in.

"I'm Dean," Dean stuck his hand out, and Clara flinched. Just about any sudden movement freaked her out, and weapons just about terrified her. Slowly, she took his hand and shook it.

"And I am Castiel, Angel of the Lord." Cas didn't stick his hand out. Clara's eyes followed something, until they were fixated on something two feet to the right of Cas' head and about a foot up.

"Beautiful..." she murmured, and Cas blushed. Then, his features settled on a look of confusion.

"What is beautiful?" His eyes followed hers. "You mean to announce that you can see my wings?"

"Yes. Why? Aren't they just visible to everyone?"

"No."

"Oh." Clara's focus returned to her heaping plate of eggs. She picked up her fork, and tentatively took a small bite. A wolfish grin spread across her lips, and she devoured the entire plate of eggs quickly, like she'd never had that much food in her life. Sam, judging from last night, thought she probably never had.

"Hey, Clara. Will you stay with us? You'd probably be a good hunter. A hunter of demons, that is."

Clara nodded, staring not at Sam's face but at his plate of food. Chuckling, he pushed it over, and she ate that, too.

"Then we'll get you some proper hunter clothes. Illegally, of course. But we'll get you them. Are you fine going by yourself? Because, um, we're kind of all guys."

Clara nodded again. "I can drive," She said softly, pointedly looking at Dean.

Dean groaned, passing the keys of his Baby over to her. "I'm taking a large leap, trusting a stranger like this. But if I find one scratch, I swear, you'll be dead before the scratch _happens_."

"You still might need someone to go with you," Sam said. "After all, we don't really know if we can trust you yet. Charlie?" He looked at Dean, who nodded.

"Definitely Charlie. Only Charlie will get her geeky stuff." Sam rolled his eyes, and pulled out his phone to text Charlie.

A knock at the door fifteen minutes later announced the arrival of Charlie.


	3. Chapter III

**Hello again. Sam's just a cutie, I guess, so I decided to write this. Really? It's been stuck in my head all week and I needed to put it on paper. Or, rather, the internet. Review ideas, yada yada yada.**

**Anyway.**

**On with the story!**

* * *

"Dean told me that Sam likes you! Do you like him back?" Charlie babbled as she and Clara were walking through the mall. They'd made a few stops already, paying with the illegal credit card.

"No, and no. Sam does not like me. I know." Clara's face was stony as she tuned out the crowd around her. What was it her father used to say? _Shut up, you little bitch._ No... _Ignore the world around you, as they are probably ignoring you. _That's it.

"I need to do your hair. Seriously. I _need_ to do it. It's gorgeous, dahling." Charlie put on a fake diva voice for that last sentance. Clara subconsciously reached up to twirl a strand of hair around her finger. She'd gotten more than enough clothing already, at least enough for five separate outfits."

"I'm not very...comfortable...with people touching my hair." Clara said slowly.

"Aw, sweetie, it's okay. I know how you feel. It's okay."

"Thank you. I think I am done. Thank you for taking me."

"No, thank you. Did I mention that you really should French braid your hair? I bet it would be gorgeous. _Gor_geous. Sam doesn't know what he's missing out on."

"Sam? Why?"

"Never mind. Here, let's go."

The girls climbed into the Impala, Charlie babbling on about her hair.

* * *

"Pie!" Charlie yelled into the occupied bunker. "And no, Dean, we didn't scratch the Impala." She said before Dean could open his mouth.

"What flavor?" He asked instead.

"Cherry," Clara supplied as she headed for the bathroom. She felt that she needed to change out of the ratty clothes she'd worn for a month. Well, it wasn't like she had an alternative.

Charlie leaned over and whispered, "So where did you find her? Sam's obviously infatuated."

Dean looked at Charlie in a mixture of shock and confusion. "She was in the shower. And _Sam_? I thought he was done after Jess..."

Sam walked into the room, oblivious to the conversation that just occurred. "Pie." Sam sliced everyone a piece, putting the rest in the fridge. Everybody sat down (except for Clara, who was still in the bathroom) and began to dig in. Dean had barely finished his first slice (which he savored, then wolfed down every other piece) when Clara came out of the bathroom.

Sam would deny it, but later on both Charlie and Dean would remember a slight swoon from the younger Winchester.

Clara had entered the kitchen hesitantly, as if to avoid drawing attention to herself. Sam's eyes locked on her anyway, drinking in every last detail. Clara was dressed in a red button down which hugged her figure nicely, a white tank top underneath. Darker wash skinny jeans made her legs look longer than they already were, and she had a pair of black Converse. Funny. Jess hated Converse, deeming them impractical, but Sam was instantly in love with the shoes. A thin leather bracelet hung on her thin wrist, a silver...pentagram...charm in the middle. Her hair was down, a few glossy curls over her shoulder instead of on her back.

"Ahem. Sam, why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer," Dean chuckled, and Sam's face was instantly the color of Clara's new shirt.

"Uh, um...where's Cas?" Sam sputtered.

"Out. Said he had Heaven shit to deal with or something." Dean answered, still laughing at his brother's bright red face. Clara sat down slowly, in the only empty seat next to Sam. "Why? Do you always need the family together?" He said it as it were an inside joke.

"No. And tone down the cynical part of Dean, or you'll just be one of those cranky old dads. Right, Clara?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, Clara, who's your daddy?" Dean cackled, but Clara's throat stuck. She pushed her plate away and stood up, hoping she wouldn't break down at the table. Striding quickly, she made it out the door on time to hide behind a tree before the tears came.

She remembered her father. The angry, drunken screaming matches. The needless rages. The bruises, each and every one of them seemingly deserved. Clara cried harder; loud, hiccuping sobs ringing through the trees that camouflaged the bunker.

* * *

At the table, Sam watched the door from his seat. He was hoping Clara'd come back, but after 10 minutes of silence, Sam rose. He turned to Dean.

"Dude, what the fuck!? Why'd you have to do that? Oh god, I really hope Clara stays with us. She can't go back to...to whatever." Sam poked his head out of the bunker door, no sign of Clara. Turning back to go inside, a wail reached his ears. After a few minutes of frantic searching, Sam finally found Clara pressed up against a tree trunk, her legs tucked into her chest.

He plopped down next to her, wrapping a long arm around her shoulders.

"Go away." Clara mumbled. She felt really bad that her first impression with them was a whiny teenager who sobbed a lot. She really wasn't like that, but she trusted too easily and let down her walls too often. "I'm...fine. Just leave me alone."

"No way. Dean made you cry. He can be an asshole sometimes, sorry."

"I can tell," she said dryly. She picked her head up. "And I'm the one who should be sorry. I've cried one too many times, it's just..." Her bottom lip quivered. "It's just you guys found the chinks in my armor, the holes in my walls all too easily. This is really hard for me to admit, because I haven't cried in, well, years."

"Wow. I haven't cried in weeks. It takes a lot. Dean's punishment is he has to find the next case, and do all the research. Although I might not go through with that. He's horrible at research."

"Really?" This earned a small smile from Clara. "Because it's really not that hard."

"Ah, well, this is Dean we're talking about." Sam stopped smiling, his face serious for a second. Clara looked up at him in confusion. Sam brought his other hand up to cup her chin, leaned forward, and pushed his mouth onto hers. Clara's eyes fluttered shut almost immediately, and brought her hands up around his neck. She kissed back slowly at first, but picked up the pace when Sam did.

In one fluid motion, her hands went from the back of his neck to pushed into his hair. When they broke, Clara's eyes never left Sam's. Still holding his head, she was quiet. "I'm so sorry." She whispered, and kissed the fleshy spot just above the bridge of his nose. She stood up, and headed back to the bunker, leaving Sam sitting on the ground, dumbstruck.


End file.
